I’ve heard it said that some people eat just to live. I can’t imagine such a thing. At every age, at every weight, at every pants size, eating has been one of the singular pleasures of my life. I enjoy the sensation of food in my mouth. My tongue celebrates flavors. The act of sharing a good meal in good company is for me the primary definition of the good life.
Compulsive dieters are fond of saying, “Nothing tastes as good as slim feels.” I beg to differ.
While I do place a high value on food, I’m not a food snob. I’m more a gourmand than a gourmet. Oh, I occasionally eat at a snooty restaurant here or there, but I also love a corny dog, a peanut butter sandwich or a good down-home barbecue. My tastes range from sushi to sorbet, and I’ll try just about anything once.
Odd things (at least for a Texas girl) I’ve tasted at least once: fried baby bumblebees, elk, Rocky Mountain oysters (don’t ask), chestnuts, raw sugar cane, fresh seaweed, rattlesnake, alligator, buffalo and octopus. This is not to mention regional specialties like boudin or bubble-and-squeak. When it comes to trying something new, I’m usually willing.
I’m always good for a restaurant recommendation, a menu critique or a review of the house specialties. Give me a cuisine type and I’ll usually be able to suggest three or four local purveyors.
I speak food.